


I Know All the Hooks To Pull (To Make My Puppet Dance)

by Lilith_Child



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I'm so sorry, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Marionettes, POV Second Person, Prompt Fill, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilith_Child/pseuds/Lilith_Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer makes marionettes. Sometimes, Sam is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know All the Hooks To Pull (To Make My Puppet Dance)

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.
> 
> I am so sorry for this, I have no idea where it came from.
> 
> The title is from the song, "Burn Cold," by Caitlin Obom.

Lucifer makes a puppet show made of marionettes. He’s bored, and he has nothing else to do in the cave that you’re currently hiding from Michael in. When he gives it to you, he smiles, and he looks like he’s waiting for a pat on the head. You stare at the gift in shocked horror.

“Are those…my bones?” you ask. They’re certainly someone’s bones, and no one down here has any hands or feet to get them from. You’ve certainly lost enough bones that have regrown, painfully, over time. It wouldn’t be too hard for him to find some of them.

Lucifer nods in response to your question. You feel sick, suddenly, which in itself is as much a surprise as the fact that Lucifer would give you a gift. With everything else you’ve seen in your time down here, you’re surprised that anything can horrify you anymore. However, in front of you, Lucifer’s expression is still eager, as if he can’t comprehend how fucked up of a present this is.

“Why?” you ask him. Why did you give me this? Why did you make this? Why the fuck are you even here? You aren’t totally sure which of the three questions you’re asking him. Maybe all three, and maybe something else entirely. Your brain has short-circuited with the sheer bafflement of it all.

“I want to make you happy, Sam. When humans are bored, they aren’t happy, and this will ease our boredom,” he replies.

You can’t quite think of an answer to that.

“You do realize how fucked up this is, right?”

Lucifer doesn’t answer you. He just smiles at you, too wide and too forced to be real. There’s an edge of bitterness in it that never really leaves him. But still, he made an attempt, and, so, you smile at him and take the two puppets from his hands, trying not to touch them as much as possible. You put them at the far end of the cave, away from the entrance, and as far away from you as you can get.

—

Two days later, the two of you are separated by a flash flood. You end up in the desert, and you end up wandering around in it for nearly two years. In that time, you’ve died at least four times. It takes you nearly fifteen years to find Lucifer again, and when you find him, he’s fighting with Michael.

You know how long it takes for eyes to regrow, and you know how risky it is to wander around without them. You tried to get between them when they were fighting once before, and you had been incinerated almost immediately. 

So, instead, you wander away, into the ice. You find Adam there, frozen solid, and you wait patiently for him to come back to life. The ice doesn’t bother you. You’ve spent too much time with Lucifer, with Lucifer inside you, to be bothered by the cold.

You spend four months with Adam before Lucifer finds the two of you. In that time, Adam has managed not to die. When he comes to fetch you, Lucifer looks terrible. His wings are torn, and cracks of light run through the illusion of him that you see.

He’s in better shape than usual. You think that he must have won this time.

—

That time, he snaps about a day in, and he leaps toward you, pinning you to the ground. It happens fast, faster than usual. Within seconds, there’s a knife digging into your chest, and you know that this is not the Lucifer you left with. 

This time, he wants you to scream. You do, because it’s better to keep him appeased than to anger him. Sometimes, he’s kinder to you, and in these years, you know that you aren’t a sentient being to him. All you can think about is survival, and even if dying is a common occurrence by now, it is never, ever pleasant. More importantly, it is never an escape. If anything, it just makes Lucifer angrier.

As he cuts through your ribs and rips them apart, he talks to you. They are possessive, angry snarls of words, and even though he directs the stream of words at you, he isn’t talking to you. Not really.

“He will never take you from me. You are mine, Sammy, do you understand that? There’s no Heaven waiting for you, no big brother with outstretched arms. He gave you up, do you remember that? I’m the only one you can trust, Sammy, the only one who will give you the care that you need. This is what you need, isn’t it, Sammy? You need to be punished. You deserve to be punished. There’s no escape from me in death. I’ll just bring you back, Sammy, you know I will. He can’t have you!” 

Usually, around this time, you stop concentrating on his words, and focus on breathing. If you die now, he is angrier than ever, and will tear into you until you are nothing but bloody pieces of flesh. The horrifying thing about that is that he keeps you conscious, and doesn’t let you die, then. Most times, he leaves you like that until the Lucifer you know comes back, and this Lucifer leaves. Those are the bad times.

Your Lucifer won’t come back for while, you know. This time, Lucifer hangs you from the sky, the metal chains thick and cool where it touches your skin. He hangs you like a marionette, and Lucifer moves your limbs until you almost resemble a bird, or Jesus.

Lucifer isn’t ignorant of the parallels. When he’s done moving your limbs, with surprising care, he steps back and takes the sight of you in. He smiles, and it is one of the most terrifying things you have ever seen. There is so much care and love in it that it makes your skin crawl.

“My Boy King,” he breathes. “My own messiah, my broken, beautiful little angel.”

“Mine,” he says, louder, and you know that when the night comes - and your Lucifer along with it - you will hate yourself for it, but in the moment, you can’t help but think that he’s right.


End file.
